


No Light

by Karkahn



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karkahn/pseuds/Karkahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dreams of a vast sea of stars. She dreams of the moon being ripped away from her. She dreams of burning white eyes watching as she screams, watching apathetically as she's being torn apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm poor, I own nothing :(  
> Unbeta'd and slightly dirty, all errors are mine, concrit is loved~

She's breaking slowly, piece by piece being torn away beneath the onslaught of painfully bright chromatic lights. A feather here, a piece of her armor there, dark fur ripping away. She's being watched, those bright, cold white eyes, watching, watching,  _watching_. Watching while she's screaming as she's raped of her divinity. Even through the haze of pain as herself is being stripped away layer by layer she can't help but think those eyes should be warm,  _hers_ had been a thousand years ago.

It's centuries before it stops, before she can remember how to breathe, laying upon the cold flagstones, spent and disoriented. In truth it's barely been a minute and she's dimly aware of six sets of eyes on her, the mares once again themselves as they survey her form, the defiled remains of a goddess laying on the stones as her celestial body is being forced from the sky, dipping down below the horizon as the sun blazes through the clouds, flooding the room, insult to injury as the warmth washes over her.

There's another presence now, speaking in gentle tones as gilded hooves touch against the floor, the elegant white mare nothing but elegance and royalty as she comes to a stop to loom over the broken deity. She expects anger, banishment, a considerably more permanent one than what she'd suffered a millennium ago. What she gets is so very different, ever the puppet master, the performer falls to her knees, offering forgiveness in the place of the place of the cold rejection she had been expecting.

Beaten as she is, she plays her role perfectly, crying into her sisters breast while declaring her love, her desire for redemption. The assortment of young mares watching the scene cry out their surprise and in turn the six are ignored for the moment. No doubt her sister will address them later.

Once in the public eye she is subdued, professes her love for her subjects until the first moment arises when she can lock herself away. Books and books and books clutter her room, stacks of tomes new and old on varied subjects written in a manner that she can barely understand at first. Her sister is patient, guiding and gentle as she leads her through the new manner in which they speak. Perhaps it is not so new, but to her it is.

The ponies that come to her nightly courts are few and far between, some skittish of the mare she had been, but mostly they sleep. Little changes in their world it seems, but she doesn't voice her complaints no matter how much it makes her heart ache. Giving such thoughts voice is what started the process so long ago.

She dreams of a vast sea of stars. She dreams of the moon being ripped away from her. She dreams of burning white eyes watching as she screams, watching apathetically as she's being torn apart.

For now she will keep her silence, bide her time as her heart breaks a little more every time the moon disappears behind the distant landscape. Every time no pony comes to her court. Every time she wakes in a cold sweat expecting to see those eyes staring her down. Every time she reads of the legends of old and sees how she's been painted as a creature of hatred and malice, who acted out of spite and jealousy.

Perhaps if she's patient things will be different this time. Perhaps if she weathers the storm the air will clear and her subjects will see her as a princess once more.

As much as she holds out hope she knows it's not to be. It never will be as long as she hopes each time she goes to sleep that there will be no light.


End file.
